


In the Low Lamp Light

by passingsunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), M/M, it definitely won't make sense unless you've read Down to Agincourt, technically this is an au of an au??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 01:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passingsunlight/pseuds/passingsunlight
Summary: Cas smiles at him from behind a lazy trail of smoke, derailing Dean's initial panicked assessment of the best way to get out of this (moving, maybe?), and takes another drag before offering him the joint. "I told you. I missed you."Dean starts to shake his head but stops himself. Stoned people really are only awesome when you’re one of them, and Dean knows Cas isn’t going to come down enough for them to have the conversation he wants to have any time soon. Fuck it he thinks, and takes the offered blunt form Cas’s outstretched hand, inhaling and fighting not to cough at the burn in his lungs.





	In the Low Lamp Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's the Stars That Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033814) by [seperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis). 



> So this is basically just something I wrote up of an idea that has been in my head for months of "what if the couch scene from Lights had happened 200,000 words earlier and also in ch 12 of stars??" and this is what came of that.
> 
> There are parts in here that are verbatim from what Seperis has written - because come on, who can match her writing style and amazing lyricism? absolutely nobody - and the whole outline of it basically follows the same structure of Ch. 13 of lights mixed with Ch. 12 of Stars.
> 
> Anyways, here this is, and I hope everyone enjoys the rest of their Insert Winter Celebration of Choice
> 
> (and if you find any errors, please let me know, this is all un beta-ed)

"Excellent." Looking pleased with himself, Cas gives his hip a friendly squeeze and lies back down, reaching for his joint with his free hand and leaving Dean to verify that yeah, he's almost sitting in Cas's lap and what the _hell just happened_?

"What," he asks, startled by the husky quality of his own voice and hurriedly clearing his throat. "What are you doing?"

Cas smiles at him from behind a lazy trail of smoke, derailing Dean's initial panicked assessment of the best way to get out of this (moving, maybe?), and takes another drag before offering him the joint. "I told you. I missed you."

Dean starts to shake his head but stops himself. Stoned people really are only awesome when you’re one of them, and Dean knows Cas isn’t going to come down enough for them to have the conversation he wants to have any time soon. _Fuck it_ he thinks, and takes the offered blunt form Cas’s outstretched hand, inhaling and fighting not to cough at the burn in his lungs. It’s been many years since he’d done this with Sam during his Stanford days and… no; Dean forcibly shoves down all Sam related thoughts; he absolutely refuses to become high _and_ maudlin.

He takes another hit and passes it back to Cas, watching him as he watches the smoke stream from Dean’s mouth. Or maybe he’s just watching Dean’s mouth. Dean pauses as the thought hits him, trying to figure out where the hell he got that from, until he’s drawn back to the present at the feel of Cas’s fingers against his as he takes the blunt back.

They pass it back and forth, until Dean can start to feel the familiar weight and comforting lethargy settle over his limbs and he shakes his head at Cas’s next offer “No, I’m good.” Pouting, Cas lazily turns toward James, who pitches forward in an eager combination of lunge and crawl before landing stomach down and taking the joint from Cas with a grateful smile; from the way he's clutching that thing, he's not giving it back. As the (extremely stoned) brown eyes fix on him, he tries an encouraging smile.

"So, James," he starts as James rolls onto his back as lithe as a cat, and pauses, eyes narrowing at Cas's sudden, focused attention, blue eyes warming in unmistakable appreciation.

Yeah, no; mind wandering from whatever he had been planning on asking James, Dean feels himself bending over, bringing himself forward until he thinks he can talk to Cas without any of the others overhearing (not that any of them are in a state to even be able to focus that much).

A stray thought works its way into prominence, telling Dean that he’s probably way too close even for the excuse he’d given himself. He brushes it aside; what does he care? He's high, and the heat radiating off of Cas like a furnace is so enticing, he can’t bring himself to pull back. It’s probably just some freaky ex-angel thing, he thinks, pondering just exactly how Cas can feel like a fucking space heater and completely unaware to the way he’s just holding himself by Cas’s ear until Cas turns his head, cheek hitting Dean’s hair, reminding him of what he’d been meaning to do when he started this particular journey.

"You know," he says, voice low enough so only Cas can hear, "if we really want everyone to think we're together, you probably shouldn't be checking out every other person here."

He doesn't pull back though, content to rest in Cas's warmth for a little longer, until he feels Cas's breath across his cheek.

"Now why," Cas responds, in the slow drawl of the truly high, "does that seem to annoy you so _very_ much?"

Dean moves to pull away, but suddenly Cas's hand is on the back of his head, completely unmovable, holding him in place, and any sense of indignation he may feel at that vanishes as Cas licks his lips and Dean shivers at the sensation of Cas's tongue almost brushing his ear. "Jealous much?" Cas asks, voice rough and low, humor dancing along every word, and he relaxes his hand enough that Dean can meet his eyes, pausing when he finds only sharp interest, because Dean can figure the amount of weed Cas has smoked and there’s no way he should be able to muster this much focus, holding Dean’s gaze with an intensity that feels like getting caught in a wave on the edge of breaking.

“If I was," Dean pulls back the rest of the way, and the tension between them increases with each low word until it almost feels tangible, "what, _exactly_ , would you do about it?" he asks, maintaining eye contact with Cas as he (yes, very deliberately, because even when he’s high, Dean knows how to play this) slides down until he is sitting all the way in Cas's lap, the wave crashing down all around with the sharp breath Cas takes and the way his fingers tighten reflexively on Dean’s hips. Dean watches, fascinated, as Cas’s eyes widen minutely and his pupils somehow become even more blown than they were before.

Cas holds his gaze a moment longer before suddenly turning to the audience Dean had forgotten all about. "James, Mira, Nate," he sharply makes eye contact with each of them so he knows they're listening, but Dean finds himself distracted by the way Cas’s hands move from his hips to his waist, pulling his shirt up a little and making it so that Cas’s pinkies are resting against the bare skin of his sides.

"You've all performed immensely satisfactorily this week.” Dean snaps out of his thoughts as Cas continues, and tries not to look too satisfied at the next words that Cas utters.

“Please leave."

He watches, intensely amused at the way they all scramble up in various states of coordination. There’s some sort of muffled conversation at the door with someone who is apparently outside, and Dean thinks it may be Joe going off the sound of his voice, but thankfully, no one appears in their doorway (also, yes, thank god they have an actual door now).

Dean turns back to Cas underneath him, and is thinking about trying some sort of experimental… something for the purpose of eliciting another gasp from Cas (and yes, that was very much a gasp before, as much as Cas may try to deny it later, he _gasped_ and that makes Dean satisfied for reasons he can’t figure out how to articulate, bit thinks may become clear very soon, please god) but before he even finishes forming the idea, Cas is a blur of motion and Dean finds himself flat on his back on the couch wondering, for the second time that night, what just happened.

Not that he’s complaining, of course, because now Cas is above him, hands on either side of his face, staring at Dean like he’s some kind of Euclidean geometry-based puzzle he needs to sort out and organize.

After a moment Cas says, so softly that Dean almost misses it, "You're curious."

It’s not a question, not really, but Dean answers all the same “Maybe”

Despite the fact that he’s watching every move Cas makes, couldn’t look away, really, even if you held a knife to his throat, Dean still shivers when Cas’s hand moves to cup his jaw, calluses rough but surprisingly gentle as Cas’s thumb runs across the stubble low on his cheek.

“Let’s find out,” Jesus, Cas’s voice is low and rough from the smoke, gravelly in a way that makes Dean have to suppress another shiver as he feels his eyes close and turns instinctively towards the sound, just before the hand on his jaw tilts his head back. "How curious, Dean?"

There’s an expectant sort of pause, as if Cas wants him to reply which, frankly, is ridiculous seeing how any and all higher brain function vanished the second Cas’s fingers touched his face, and the rest disappears with the couch shifting as Cas slowly, so fucking slowly Jesus Christ, leans forward and brushes his lips against Dean’s; pressure barely there but just enough for him to wonder — _maybe_  (with just a flash of _please_ , though he’d take that one to his grave) — before Cas pulls back. Not far enough though; Dean can feel Cas’s breath huff across his face with an amused “Well?”

When he opens his eyes, yup, Cas has a self satisfied little… smirk on his face and any lightness Dean had felt turns to stone in his stomach as he focuses on not just reaching up and decking the smug look off of his face.

Some of it must show through because Cas’s eyebrows draw together and his mouth (pink, a little chapped, Dean’s brain notes, and thanks, _not helping_ right now) turns down. “Dean?” Cas asks, and it’s that little hint of worry (pity? Regret? How the fuck should he know?) that brings him crashing back into himself as Cas really starts to pull away. “Dean, I—”

“So,” he interrupts, relieved when his voice doesn’t break. “Is that it?”

Cas just stares at him, so he tries again. “You got anything more,” Dean asks as he brings his knee up, pressing against Cas’s back, bitterly pleased when Cas goes with the motion. “Or are you going to let me up?”

The challenge rings through the air and Dean swears he can feel Cas’s annoyance as he stills, still just _staring_ at him, in that way he used to when he was still an angel; head slightly cocked, looking through him in a way that raises the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck and it’s like he’s caught in the moments before lightning strikes, electricity and the scent of ozone coursing through the air. For a second, it feels like Cas can read his mind again and he wonders what Cas would make of the fact that all he can think about is watching Cas those first few weeks — pinning someone against the wall of a cabin in two foot high weeds or wandering out of another one on a lazy afternoon rumpled and comfortable in his skin; every time Dean came to those team meetings to stand invisible witness to Cas's goddamn post-coital glow; God, when he stood in the doorway of Cas's cabin and just watched, forgetting how to stop or even how to want to: want more?

Yeah, he can do that.

It’s forever and a moment as Cas leans back down and Dean finally gives in and pushes himself up to meet him halfway, reveling in the press of Cas’s lips against his and the way Cas’s hand moves to cup the back of his head.

It’s over too quickly as Cas pulls back again and Dean only lets him rumble out a low “Better,” before he has his hand on the back of Cas’s neck and is reeling him in for another kiss (because it seems like Cas needs a tutorial on what to do when you’re heading towards the edge of a cliff, and the answer will never, _ever_ be to stop).

This time, at least, Cas seems to get the message; he teasingly licks a stripe of heat across Dean’s lower lip and Dean opens up for it unthinkingly, all excuses of plausible deniability vanish (if they were even there to begin with) as Cas tilts his head to deepen the kiss and wipes out any scattered thoughts Dean had left. He moves to tangle his fingers in Cas’s hair, god, if he can have his way, Cas will never cut it, like ever, and sucks on Cas’s tongue, thrilled at the muted sound Cas makes. Cas’s hands leave trails of burning heat as they travel from his head down to his back. There’s a hint of pressure and a disorienting blur of motion and suddenly Dean is sitting up, straddling Cas’s lap.

He lets out a breathless laugh and almost misses when Cas mutters “Get this off,” but combined with the feather-light tickle of Cas’s fingers at the hem of his t-shirt, there’s no way Dean’s mistaken about Cas’s next course of action.

He feels himself hesitate, images of that corpse like visage grinning at him from the bathroom mirror flash through his head. Dean meets Cas’s eyes and sees him make the connection. Cas doesn’t move, however, just tugs Dean back for another kiss, gentler this time but with a heat that sends sparks cascading down his spine.

Every brush of Cas’s fingers against his torso is electric as he slowly raises the thin cotton of Dean’s shirt. Cas breaks away only to get the shirt over his head before he’s back, kissing from Dean’s mouth to the muscle just under his jaw and he pauses to suck a kiss before suddenly sinking his teeth in and Dean thinks he actually stops breathing at that, a high-pitched whine crawling it’s way from his throat. His fingers curl and rake down Cas’s back and Cas growls — actually _growls_ , holy fuck — and if Dean wasn’t hard before he’s absolutely aching now.

“Cas,” he gasps out as he grinds down, feeling the length of Cas’s cock, hard, even through two layers of jeans and boxers. “Cas,” he manages again, because other words aren’t really happening right now like, at all, and there's a push and the world tilts backwards and he’s lying back on the couch, Cas looking down at him and fuck, he’d thought he wanted Cas to look at him the way he still sometimes looks at some of the people around camp; Vera and Sean and Zoe and Lee; the way he’d looked at James earlier while Dean was in his goddamned _lap_ but he was wrong. He wants Cas to look at him the way he does right now, as if Dean is the only person he has ever or could ever want.

Dean drags his heel up Cas’s calf, appreciating the view as Cas strips off his shirt, and just barely manages to avoid outright moaning when Cas grabs his thigh and pulls their hips together with an almost audible click. He has his fingers on the waistband of Cas’s jeans and is just about to start working them open when Cas snaps his head towards the door and that’s when Dean hears it too — the sound of someone coming up the porch steps, someone who will be very dead, very soon if they open that fucking door.

———————————————

When Joe had gone to collect James and his team from Cas’s cabin and whatever Cas-inspired method of showing support and leader-ly approval they’d ended up in, he’s been pleasantly surprised to see everyone (for the most part) standing on their own and closing Cas’s door, another welcome surprise, behind them. He’d paid no mind to the weird look in their faces, akin to the one seen on young kids when Mom and Dad kiss in front of them, had chalked it up to the comedown of Cas’s distraction of choice for the night (of the green leafy variety, judging by the scent). So when they got everyone home and Nate revealed he’d lost his book back at Cas’s cabin, Joe’d thought nothing of just going back to retrieve it for him, and had completely ignored all of James’s protests to the contrary.

Really, he should’ve known better.

In hindsight, the silence was the first (and really only, but still) clue. There should’ve been something coming through the walls; a quiet murmur of conversation, the sound of dishes washing, the shower running, anything, but nope.

Still, Joe had walked up the steps, opened the door saying, “Hey, Nate says he left his bo—” and stopped, took in Dean and Cas on the couch, saw the boot in the armchair, grabbed the boot, and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

As he makes his way back to Nate’s cabin, the only thing Joe can think about is the Eldritch Horror Dean owes him and how he wishes he’d cashed in right when they’d returned to camp; he certainly wants it right now.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Work Song by Hozier


End file.
